






MR MILES' SERMON, 



ON THE DEATH OP THE 



HON. LUTHER LAWRENCE. 



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Class E^l^ 



SERMON 



DELIVEEED AT THE 



South Congregational Church in Lowell, 



ON THE 



SABBATH FOLLOWING THE FUNERAL 



HON. LUTHER LAWRENCE, 

WHO DIED APRIL 17, 1839. 



BY HENRY A. MILES. 



LOWELL: 

LEONARD HUNTRESS, PRINTER. 

1839. 



THE FOLLOWING SERMON, PREPARED BT NECESSITY IN HASTI, 
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO THE FRIENDS AT WHOSE 
REQUEST A FEW COPIES ARE PAINTED, 

BY THE AUTHOR. 



SERMON 



MATHEW xxiv. 44. 

•" THEKEFOKE BE TIE ALSO READY, FOR IN SUCH AN HO0R AS YK 
THINE NOT THE SON OF MAN COMETH." 

How dark and inscrutable are, at times, 
the visitations of Providence ! The events 
which for the most part make up the experi- 
ence of life, it seems to us that we can ex- 
plain. We can understand their meaning 
and their purpose. We rejoice that we can 
do this, that beneath most of the changes of 
life the intentions of the divine will reveal 
themselves, their wise, and kind, and gracious 
design we can see. 

But lo ! these are but a part of his ways. 
There is another large class which are not 



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level to our comprehension. They are shroud- 
ed in darkness which no human eyes can 
pierce. Even the loving and trusting heart 
will sometimes exclaim, " why dealeth the 
Father after this manner with his children ?" 
But nf) voice replies, no light breaks forth, all 
human wisdom is vain, all inquiry is baffled. 

And there, in their impenetrable mystery, 
these events we must leave. The reasons of 
them are concealed in the secret councils of 
the divine will, and man never appears so 
presumptuous as when he tries to fathom ihem. 
They are unsearchable and past finding out. 
What he does we know not now, but shall 
know hereafter. 

Let not such reflections as these, however, 
give us any gloomy thoughts of the govern- 
ment of our Heavenly Parent. They ought 
not to have this effect. To a seriously con- 
siderate mind they will not have this effect. 
The government of our Heavenly Father is, 
even in the point now referred to, precisely 
like the government of an earthly Father, 
who, though ever so affectionate, must, if 



he be wise, continually do what his child can- 
not explain, what may perhaps sometimes 
appear to be unreasonable and harsh. What 
then the earthly parent does, his child knows 
not now, but will know hereafter. So is it 
with the Supreme Parent of all. He makes 
his appeal from our present ignorance, to 
future light. We must humbly wait for that 
light, to interpret the scenes through which 
we are here passing. And when the time 
comes for us to look upon them no longer 
through a glass darkly, we shall see the most 
important connexion between events, which, 
to the eye of sense and mortality, seemed in 
no wise related. What was once dark will 
then be made clear. That which appeared 
to stand out by itself, a dispensation of un- 
mixed grief, suffering, and evil, we shall see 
to be but one subordinate movement in a vast 
system of benelicence and love. The wisdom 
and goodness of God will be justified, in what 
were the darkest and most fearful passages of 
life. 



Meanwhile let us learn the great lesson of 
trust : — " Wait the great teacher Death, and 
God adore." Without anxious questionings 
let us leave the sudden, startling events of 
God's Providence just where he has left them 
— shrouded in the mystery of His ways whose 
foot-steps are in the deep. 

But when these sudden and startling events 
fall among us with that awful surprise which 
makes the face of the boldest grow pale, 
and the hands of the strongest tremble, there 
are serious thoughts which will be awakened 
in all hearts, from which a wise and good 
man will not turn away, until they have 
blessed him. And if we may not say that 
these are the purposes for which God sends 
them, we may at least say that these are the 
uses that man should make of them — by them 
to realize the uncertainty of his life, and to 
feel the need of a continual readiness for the 
day of his death. 

In such an hour as ye think not the son of 
man cometh. These words have ever been 
sounding in our ears. The truth they contain 



we know, we know it well. And yet what a 
fearful thing it is to have it brought home as 
a reality to our hearts ! Brethren, I am sure 
I am but repeating what ye yourselves have 
felt, that we deceive ourselves with a feeling 
of false security. The sun daily rises and 
sets for us. We are strong to go forth to our 
daily toil, we lay our plans for the far-reaching 
future, as if we were never to be moved. — 
We think not on what a brink we every mo- 
ment stand, what one brief instant has done 
for others, what at any time it may do for 
us. And when death does come, as it were 
before our eyes, and at our very side, how 
are we startled and alarmed, awakened from 
our dream, and made to feel what our own 
liability is to an instantaneous end ! 

I plead for nothing, my friends, beyond the 
dictates of a sober truth. I forget not that 
sudden mortality is not God's usual method 
of withdrawing the gift of life. I know that, 
in the common course of his Providence, he 
gives us warnings of his will. Thanks be to 
his name that he does. Let us praise him for 



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the blessed ministry of sickness, which, be- 
side affording intimations of our departure, 
and tending to make us feel resigned, eases 
the blow of separation to the hearts of friends, 
which, falling at once, would smite them 
prostrate to the dust. 

But, notwithstanding this, death does come, 
and often come — ye who hear me know it, 
and this whole community knows it — without 
the least forewarning note of his approach. 
And therefore let us act the part of wise men 
and take this fact into serious account. Let 
it break up that unretlecting, false security 
into which we are so prone to slide. Let us 
remember that in the scenes of our daily walk, 
and most familiar business, dangers may lurk, 
and death may lie in wait for us : and that 
though we live under a Providence without 
whose care not even a sparrow falleth to the 
ground, yet it may be the will of that Provi- 
dence to take us, as it hath taken others, in a 
moment, in the twinkling of an eye. 

No one of us, my friends, no one of us re- 
alizes how solemn is this truth. Xot even in 



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those first moments of surprise, when tidings 
of what God had so suddenly done startled us 
with fear, when the very g'ound we walked 
upon seemed insecure beneath our feet, and 
we felt " what siiadows we are, and what 
shadows we pursue," not even then did we 
realize how full of awe is the situation in 
which we every moment stand. It is not 
mere death that makes it so. It is not the 
leaving forever these scenes, nor the parting 
forever from these friends. It is the myste- 
rious unfoldings of eternity ; it is that we 
stand on the shore of that boundless world 
into whose dread abyss no human eye can 
cast one glance — Just for one moment linger- 
ing, and trembling on its brink. 

An impression of the uncertainty of life is 
not, however, the only lesson which the sud- 
den and surprising events of God's provi- 
dence should teach us. A mere feeling of 
insecurity may only alarm and weaken the 
mind without lifting it up to one high pur- 
pose and resolve. It should be directed to 
some wise, serious, and practical end Ac 



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cordingly our ttxt adds — be ye therefore 
ready. And this is the practical lesson to 
which these reilections should lend us, and 
which the startling events of life, in their 
own impressive language, should efilbrce up- 
on us — readiness for that sure coming but 
uncertain hour, readiness for that summons 
which will admit of no delay, will give ear 
to no entreaty, will be put by by no promise, 
and may not grant us one single moment for 
thought. 

But preparation for that hour, who can tell 
how it may be made ? No man can say for 
his brother. We must each search and see for 
ourselves. And as I do but repeat the lesson 
which God himself, in his most holy Provi- 
dence, preaches to u?, 1 will speak to you, 
brethren, with that directness of speech, 
which man may use to man. And ! pray 
you to ask your own hearts, if that hour 
should come upon you as a ihief in the night, 
would it find yoic prepared ? Brethvcn. we 
each do know something of our hearts, their 
infirmities and sins. We know where wc are 



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shunning duty, where we are yielding to al- 
hjrements to wrong, where we are placing our 
supreme affections upon objects which one 
moment may turn to dust and ashes. By the 
solemn events of God's Providence I pray 
you to look at these things. I will plead 
with you for a juster estimate of the concerns 
of this short and uncertain life. I will re- 
mind you that those objects cannot be worthy 
of your highest regard, which this very day 
you may be summoned to leave. 1 will ask 
you to guide your daily life by those serious 
impressions that are drawn from that other 
world, to the very verge and almost sight of 
which, it seems that we have been brought. 
I will exhort you to seek first those things 
which will soon be all things to you — duty 
well performed, temptations resisted and 
overcome, and the work, which the Father 
hath given you to do, ever going on in you, 
in love, and trust and holy fear. 

Come then the last hoiu- when God pleases 
and as God pleases. Our hearts shall not 
condemn us ; and He who is greater than 



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our hearts will give us peace and assurance 
forever. 

To the events of the last few days I hard- 
ly dare trust myself to allude. They have 
come upon us with such overwhelming sud- 
denness that we feel like saying — The Lord 
hath passed before us. Be still. 

That the honored form, which, only one 
week since, was bowed reverently in worship 
in this Temple, is now the tenant of a distant 
tomb — how affecting beyond our power to 
exi)ress ! 

And now although so many of us have 
been witnesses of the mournful scenes which 
an event like this occasions, and have paid 
the last tribute of respect to his mortal re- 
mains, yet how hard it is to realize that we 
shall here see him no more, and that the pla- 
ces that have known him will know him no 
more forever. 

It belonc;s not to this place to praise the 
dead. And of him a worthier memorial is 
written in a life, uniformly marked with traits 
that secured to him the respect and highest 



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confidence of all, and it is treasured up im- 
perishably in faithful hearts. With what pu- 
rity and uprightness of private life, with 
what conscientiousness and fidelity in nu- 
merous public trusts, he had his walk before 
God, is known to you all. The kind Neigh- 
bor, the useful Citizen, the trusty Counsellor, 
the judicious Friend in whom the widow and 
the fatherless often confided, the devoted and 
efficient public Officer, he filled all stations 
with strict integrity of purpose. Sincere in 
his manners, frank in his address, firm and 
faithful in his friendships, how many had he 
bound, to his generous, manly heart. By his 
large circle of acquaintances, by us of this 
society with whom he worshipped, by numer- 
ous public institutions of which he was an 
active member and supporter, by this city — 
its able executive head — too deeply for our 
poor words to describe, will his loss be felt. 
Of his own family and kindred we may not 
here speak. Sacred is the sanctuary of their 
grief. Hearts there are that feel for them, 



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and prayers there are that go up to Him, who 
pitieth his stricken children. 

And now, brethren, in the midst of his 
strength, and in the very heiglith of his use- 
fuhiess he has been in a moment cnDed away ; 
by one of those visitutioRS of God's most 
holy hand to wliich we are at any time ex- 
posed, and which only live days since we 
should have thought would have fallen upon 
any one of us, as soon as upon him. To 
those many names, fresh in your memories, 
of those who have here been suddenly takeu 
hence, yet another is now added. O that 
we were wise, that we understood this, that 
we would consider our latter end. 



IBRARYOFCONGF 



